


Brighter than the sun

by symphorine



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Getting Back Together, M/M, Pining, Post-Break Up, eventually, iwaoi friendship, side iwadai, stz third years friendship, they're in their mid-to-late twenties there it's not really specified, they... have a lot of feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-18
Updated: 2017-01-18
Packaged: 2018-09-18 07:49:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9375155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/symphorine/pseuds/symphorine
Summary: The deep voice is familiar, and the broad, almost towering figure even more. Oikawa's eyes land on Ushijima's face before he can stop himself, and he almost forgets how to breathe. Ushijima has barely changed – he’s as beautiful as ever, maybe even more than in Oikawa’s memories.Then time catches up with him.-Oikawa and Ushijima have to work together again after a bad break up six months ago. It'scomplicated.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [candyharlot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/candyharlot/gifts).



> first, thank you to [shittygomu](http://shittygomu.tumblr.com/), for helping with the typos and reassuring me that this was good, and my eternal gratitude to [Vorvayne](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Vorvayne/), for offering to beta this fic and helping me make it the best version of itself it can be.
> 
> second, thank you amanda for yelling about haikyuu!! with me, and specifically making me enthusiastic about ushioi again. also thank you for being my friend, i love u and i really really hope you like this
> 
> (third, i promise there's a happy ending, they just make it very difficult for themselves to get there)
> 
> enjoy!

 

Ushijima drops his keys on the table without care and avoids looking at his work briefcase. He goes directly for the shower, still panting from his run, and sets the water so hot it feels like it's burning. He's rough with the soap and scratches himself more than anything else, but he's not really paying attention.

Running didn't clear his head, and the scalding shower isn't cutting it either. He gives up and turns the water off, dries himself quickly and puts on a T-shirt and sweatpants that he bought last month. His heart is still racing in his chest, and he feels almost dizzy.

He comes back in the main room of his studio, reluctantly. He's never been a very materialistic person, but it looks bare, barely lived-in. He's used to it, but sometimes, he misses -

He turns his eyes to the briefcase that he had thrown on his bed in haste, before going on his run. He hasn't opened it again since leaving work. He doesn't want to now, either. But he doesn't really have a choice.

He sits on his covers and reaches for the cursed object, holds it in his lap. He listens to the tick-tock of his clock as he stares at it. There isn't much else to listen to for him at home, these days. The radio, sometimes. He doesn't have a TV. He never actually enjoyed television programs enough to watch them by himself.

He opens the briefcase. He's been in position in this city for only a few months, but there's quite a few files in here - though only one that's filling him with apprehension.

He could call Reon. Reon has always been good at this, at helping him process. He's patient, and kind, and he understands things without Ushijima having to spell them out. He had understood, when Ushijima had left. He'd told him it was the right decision. Maybe he would know if _this_ is good or not, too.

Ushijima will find out himself soon enough. He takes the file out and flips it open. He refuses to shake. He starts to skim over it.

Project of three months. Another couple of competent people needed to help with a client. All expenses paid by the company.

Back to Tokyo. Back to the office. _Since you've worked there,_ his boss had said, _we thought you'd be the best fit. Your familiarity with our colleagues over there means you'll be less thrown off-balance. We're counting on you._

He's going to see Oikawa again. He's not sure how good his balance will be.

* * *

Oikawa is pacing in his office, trying not to bite his fingernails in anxiety. It's annoying enough that he's had to request more people to help, but it's even more irritating that he doesn't know who they are. He has no idea what their strengths and weaknesses are, how well they work in groups or individually, how he'll be able to divide them up efficiently. Curse HR and their legendary slowness.

He practically jumps in surprise when someone knocks at the door. He takes a second to school his features into his usual amiable expression, then opens.

Yahaba is there, leading three people and looking oddly nervous.

"Yes?" Oikawa says.

"Three of our new co-workers. The fourth one will be there soon, there was a... delay." Yahaba's speech doesn't flow right.

"A delay?" Oikawa repeats.

Yahaba fidgets. "The director wanted to see him."

"Why?" Oikawa asks, and he knows he's frowning, now.

Yahaba opens and closes his mouth, like the words won't come out, but Oikawa gets his answer anyway.

"Good afternoon. I apologize for being late."

The deep voice is familiar, and the broad, almost towering figure even more. Oikawa's eyes land on Ushijima's face before he can stop himself, and he almost forgets how to breathe. Ushijima has barely changed – he’s as beautiful as ever, maybe even more than in Oikawa’s memories.

Then time catches up with him, and Yahaba's anxiety makes sense. He was one of the rare people to know about them, after all, back when they were still... something. Oikawa has to make a conscious effort to keep all the emotions raging in him off his face, but he's got practice. The three others are looking a bit puzzled, and Ushijima – god, Oikawa hates how unfazed he looks. Like this doesn't affect him. But he was the one to walk away, so maybe it _doesn't_. Maybe he has no problem acting as coworkers, just for a few months, before he disappears again.

Well, Oikawa won't show any less resolve, then.

"Since we're all here now, I suggest we step into my office," he says with a friendly smile, turning toward the three people he doesn't know. Yahaba is bowing and mumbling something, and he runs off discreetly. "I will brief you on what we need you to do exactly, and then tomorrow I will interview each of you individually to determine where to assign you."

He goes back in the room and holds the door open. The four people trickle in, Ushijima walking in last. Oikawa forces himself not to spare him a glance, and inhales slowly as they all sit on the chairs he's prepared, in front of the screen where the first slide of his powerpoint is waiting.

He can do this. He's done it before, and it was actually harder, because back then, Ushijima's opinion actually _mattered_ to him, and obviously, it doesn't anymore. Why would it? There's definitely unresolved feelings, there, he can't deny it, but they can't – they shouldn't – affect his work.

He presses a key on his computer and recites the words he's learned by heart, now. There's big events to organize, receptions after public speeches advertizing their client's new jewellery line, scattered over three weeks, all in different places. He'd hoped to pull it off with his usual team, but the client kept asking for more, and at some point, he'd resigned himself to ask for help. The three newcomers nod here and there, and so does Ushijima, but Oikawa can't shake the feeling that he's _judging_ him.

He ignores it, and finishes his presentation without a hitch. He shakes hands with his future co-workers, but Ushijima hangs back, like he's waiting for them to be alone.

Finally, when the last of the others has passed the door, Ushijima takes a step forward.

"Oikawa-"

It hurts – just a little – to hear _Oikawa_ and not _Tooru_ come out of his mouth. He's probably made himself get used to using his family name, just like Oikawa trained himself to say and think _Ushijima_ instead of _Wakatoshi_. Oikawa would bet on it. It's one of the aspects of each other’s personality that they'd had the least trouble grasping. They were so similar, sometimes.

Oikawa holds his hand to stop him. "Ushijima. I'm happy to have you on the team, I know you're excellent in your field. I'll still have to interview you too tomorrow, of course. I hope we'll both give our best for the duration of this mission," he smiles.

He knows his tone was perfectly polite, almost amicable. Like you'd greet a colleague you vaguely know, not an ex. He sort of hopes it hurts Ushijima as much as it’s hurting him, even though _he_ was the one to screw up first.

Ushijima looks taken aback for a second, but he recovers quickly. "Of course," he says, simply. "I will see you tomorrow."

It's cold – colder than when they'd started interacting, even, because at the time, Ushijima was already driving him mad. Oikawa feels uncomfortable as he watches Ushijima leave, and he has to keep himself from saying something, anything, to make him come back.

The door closes and he's alone again, but he refuses to let the mask fall. He doesn't want to deal with what's underneath just yet.

* * *

_six months ago_

"He's gone."

The departure board is in front of him, and there's no sign of the flight he’s looking for. His eyes can’t focus."

" _What? No, you-_ "

"The plane left, Hajime," Oikawa says. His voice sounds too small to convey everything he's feeling. "He left. It's over."

He walks to a bench in the waiting area, sits down just before his legs give out. He doesn't pay attention to the lady beside him, who looks offended to have someone sitting next to her. He can't pay attention to much, except Iwaizumi on the end of the line, and the fresh Ushijima-shaped hole in his heart.

" _Tooru, I'm sorry_."

Oikawa laughs, sharp and without any amusement. He tilts his head back and looks at the ceiling.

He's not sure what he's looking for up there.

"Don't be. It's not your fault I was too late."

" _Do you want me to come pick you up?_ "

"Fuck, Hajime, don't be so nice to me. I think it makes it even worse." Oikawa manages a laugh, but it sounds hollow, even to him.

" _Listen-_ "

"I'll walk back," Oikawa interrupts him. "I need- I need to-"

He has to bite his lips to keep the sob inside, but the tears fall anyway. He hopes Iwaizumi can't hear.

" _Come back to my place_." It doesn't sound negotiable, but Oikawa would have accepted anyway.

"Okay," he replies, and hangs up as soon as possible, but he knows Iwaizumi heard the way his voice went higher at the end.

He turns his phone off. He doesn't want to hear or see anybody right now. Especially not people who know what's going on. He needs – time alone. Time to think.

Time to let it sink in that he's chased away the person he loves, and that Ushijima isn't coming back.

He gets up, probably to the relief of the lady who was beside him. He wanders off aimlessly. He knows there's tears running down his face, feels them soaking his shirt, but he doesn't try to wipe them.

There's a corner, between a Starbucks and another alley, and he lets himself sink to the ground there. At least here, he’s partially hidden from people.

The first sob comes from so deep it feels like he's getting turned inside out.

* * *

The company is paying for a hotel room, not too far from the company building. Ushijima can go from one to the other in twenty minutes on foot. It's not too bad, and the room is nice. The bed is comfortable, the shower runs without problems, and he's got just enough space to exercise a bit, if he doesn't feel like going to a gym.

The only real difference from his apartment is that there's no kitchen, and there's a TV.

He goes for a run as soon as he gets home. He tries to map his route so he doesn't go in places that are too familiar, too full of memories.

It's no use. The very second he stops to catch his breath – he doesn't have to, usually, but _usually_ he isn't running like something is trying to catch him – everything comes back to him.

Seeing Oikawa earlier was almost easier than he'd thought. He looked a bit different, maybe. Thinner. Ushijima is not sure what he had expected to feel, but he’d been almost worried, for a handful of seconds; then Oikawa's tone had reminded him that this was strictly professional, this time. That there would be no favoritism – not that there had ever been any, even before. But no other difference in treatment either. They would do their job, and that was all.

Ushijima is fine with it. It's the best arrangement, for both of them. They don't have to linger on the past – they shouldn't have to.

At least, he thinks, it looks like Oikawa has moved on. There had been something beside surprise on his face, at first, but he'd led the meeting normally. He hadn't faltered when talking to him, at the end. He'd looked... unaffected.

Maybe it had been stupid of Ushijima to expect anything else. It's been months. Oikawa has had time to – forget. Recover. Ushijima hopes he's happier now, at least, even if it's on the terms that drove them apart.

He starts running again. His hotel isn't far, and he's there before the sun goes down. He nods at the person at the reception, then takes the stairs to the fourth floor.

He takes his shower scalding hot, again. It helps a little more this time. He keeps any thought of Oikawa – Oikawa's voice, Oikawa's hands, Oikawa's smile – at bay, focuses on getting clean. He uses the hotel soap, and dries himself with the hotel towels, but he doesn't see a difference from his usual ones. New, and dry-cleaned, and white. Folded perfectly.

He puts on jeans and a plain T-shirt. It's a relief to be out of his work clothes – his suit is tailored just a little too small around the shoulders, and it's uncomfortable. He casts a look around.

There's not much to be done. He doesn't have work yet; Oikawa will assign it to him tomorrow. He didn't think to bring books with him, and his plants stayed in Hiroshima. He has a thought for his neighbor, Hinata, an overactive red-haired student who assured him he could look after them, and has the sudden conviction that they'll be dead when he comes back.

He picks up his phone and scrolls through his contacts. Some of his friends still live here, after all, and he's missed them. Phone calls help catching up with each other, but it doesn’t replace being actually together.

He sends a group message – Tendou, Reon, Semi, Yamagata. Only Tendou doesn't seem surprised by the sudden invitation, and Ushijima remembers that he hasn't told anyone yet that he's coming back for two months, too caught up in thinking about Oikawa.

He puts that realization away to examine later, and replies to Semi instead.

* * *

_six months ago_

Ushijima joins the line for the security check. He holds his suitcase as tight as he can; it's better than letting his hands shake. He feels a trickle of sweat running down his back, and his stomach is doing funny things. If he didn't know better, he'd say he's sick.

Maybe he is. Maybe he can turn back, and pretext a bad cold.

He takes a step forward as the people before him get their turn. He can't go back. He made his decision. It wasn't easy – it's not easy now either – but it was necessary. He can't move if he's weighed down – neither can Oikawa. He can't make any progress if there's something always on his mind, always–

He looks back, but there's nobody familiar. His friends have work. He's made his goodbyes the day before, around beers and surrounded by laughter. It was good; he'd felt happy, for the time it had lasted. But now he can't help the questions that plague his mind. Is it the right thing to do? Is he making a mistake? Should he give Oikawa more time?

But Oikawa hasn't called, or texted. He hasn't come. He agreed to this, without even the smallest fight. Truly, it's what hurts the most, even now. Their routine the last couple of months has been _made_ of fights, almost every time they've seen each other. To have Oikawa accept this without saying anything…

Ushijima looks forward again and finds that it's his turn. He drops the suitcase in one of the trays, puts his phone and keys and shoes in the other, and steps under the metal detector.

It doesn't ring, and the guard on the other side gestures for him to take back his belongings. Ushijima moves toward the trays with his things in it, and manages to lace his shoes only because he'd known how to do it since he was a child. His vision is blurry, but he blinks it away and concentrates on clearing the area, for the people coming after him.

He turns one last time, but there is nobody coming for him. Something hurts, below his stomach, but he doesn't acknowledge it.

He takes his suitcase and walks away.

* * *

Oikawa spends most of his evening in a haze. He lies on his bed, staring at the ceiling, mind blank. It's better than the alternative, probably. He doesn't want to _think_ right now. His entire body still feels strangely light, like it does when he's feverish. His steps on the way home had been shaky at best, and it's a wonder he didn't knock into anything on his way to his bed. He didn't even take the time to do more than loosen his tie.

He shakes himself out of it around nine, when his stomach starts to growl. He gets rid of his work uniform and puts on more casual clothes. His, of course – all the things Ushijima left when he went to Hiroshima are stored in the closet, pushed away from light and sight. It's clothes, books, a lamp, a chair that Oikawa had suddenly remembered didn’t belong to him. Ushijima had never come back to pick it up, and once Oikawa locked them away, he hadn't found the courage to touch them again.

He should call Iwaizumi, he thinks as he pulls eggs out of the fridge. He'll need to tell him, eventually, and he'll need someone to vent to, while he works with Ushijima. He has other friends, of course, but Iwaizumi was there for him every step of the way. Even when he didn't deserve it. He will want to know.

Oikawa cracks some eggs into a pan and stirs. And here he was starting to think he was finally getting over it. Over Ushijima, over the hurt, over his own many, varied fuck-ups. He's tried to be better, he _wants_ to, if only to make sure that his next relationship doesn't fail so spectacularly.

Ushijima's reappearance doesn't negate any of this, he tells himself. He's made progress – Iwaizumi may have had to kick his ass and lock up any booze he owned to get him started, but he's made progress, for _himself_. It shouldn't matter that Ushijima is here again, not after such an unambiguous separation, at least. There was nothing left unsaid. There's nothing left to fix or talk about. There’s nothing between them anymore, unless you count the ashes of what Oikawa used to call love.

His omelet is burned, but he slides it on a plate and eats it anyway. He doesn't have the energy to make anything else. They'll be professional, Oikawa repeats to himself, like a mantra. They'll stay in their respective roles, and work on the events, and then Ushijima will leave again, and Oikawa will be able to live his life like normal again.

He stops eating. It's not even that the omelet tastes bad; it's that he can't taste anything. He drinks a glass of water, to rinse his mouth, and puts the rest of the omelet in a plastic box, in the fridge. It'll be good enough, when he has another low energy evening.

It's Iwaizumi who calls him, in the end. Oikawa picks up immediately, almost falls when he trips on nothing as he tries to reach his phone.

"Iwa-chaaaaan!" he exclaims, falsely cheerful. "What brings me the joy of hearing your voice in this fine day?"

" _Felt a disturbance in the force, so I wanted to check that your stupid ass hadn't burned the apartment down or something_."

"Nerd."

" _You're the one who made me watch Star Wars._ "

"Fair enough," Oikawa concedes. "And the real reason?"

" _You left your sweater last time._ "

"Ah, fuck," Oikawa sighs. "I should have known it was at your place, I looked for it everywhere on Monday."

" _I'll wash it, it got pushed under the couch._ " There's a pause, then Iwaizumi asks, carefully. " _Do you want to come pick it up now?_ "

It's Thursday evening, long past the hour people normally go out. He doesn't want to move, honestly; but an evening with Iwaizumi beats an evening spent here by himself, trying not to think about things he can't do anything about.

"Yeah," he replies. "I'll be there in half an hour."

" _Knock before you open the door_."

Iwaizumi hangs up. Oikawa quickly throws together a change of work clothes and a toothbrush in a bag, and makes sure there's no hole in his socks. He turns everything off and practically flies out of the door.

It's not a long walk to Iwaizumi's apartment. He meets Iwaizumi's roommate and boyfriend, Daichi, in the lobby.

"Hey," Daichi greets him with his usual smile.

"Hey," Oikawa says back. "I didn't mean to chase you away."

"Don't worry, I had plans before Iwaizumi invited you," Daichi shrugs. "Don't make him stay up too late, though, he has an early shift tomorrow."

"I'll try," Oikawa smirks. Daichi knows well enough that Oikawa is not the responsible one in his and Iwaizumi’s relationship.

"Have a good night!" Daichi calls over his shoulder as he walks away.

Oikawa knows the way up to Iwaizumi's apartment so well it's practically muscle memory. He’s spent a lot of time there, especially after Ushijima's departure. Honestly, he's not sure how Iwaizumi and Daichi kept putting up with him; in retrospect, certainly none of his finest moments happened then, and he was little more than a human rag when he wasn’t at work. _He_ would have been tired of himself.

He doesn't knock. Iwaizumi sighs by way of greeting.

"Wait a second, I'm starting laundry," he says.

Oikawa gets rid of his shoes and puts his bag by the doorway. He walks over to the kitchen corner and starts making tea, for Iwaizumi and himself. He hears Iwaizumi swear and bang on the lid of the laundry machine – it's an old thing his parents gave him, and it tends to be capricious.

"As soon as we have the money, I'm throwing it in the trash," he grunts, taking the steaming mug Oikawa is offering him. "Thanks."

"How long?"

"Two hours, maybe, for the laundry cycle and then the dryer," Iwaizumi shrugs.

Oikawa nods and takes a sip. He's very aware of Iwaizumi's eyes on him, trying to find all his tells. He's got years of practice.

"Couch?" Iwaizumi proposes.

"Sure."

They sit. Oikawa thinks he should say something, about Ushijima, but the words just won't come. What is there even to say, beyond 'he's here'?

"So," Iwaizumi starts, putting away his tea. "Gonna tell me what's bothering you?"

Oikawa purses his lips. The edge he's been feeling all day has finally worn off, but it doesn't make any of his emotions less complicated. It seems things between him and Ushijima are cursed to never take the simple route.

Except when it came to ending things, apparently.

"Ushijima," Oikawa finally confesses.

"What, again?" Iwaizumi seems surprised, almost alarmed.

"He's back," Oikawa explains staring into his tea. "For two months. We're working together."

Iwaizumi stays silent a long moment, after that. Oikawa wonders if he's waiting for him to say anything more, or thinking about things himself.

When he raises his head, Iwaizumi is looking right at him. "Are you all right?"

"I-" Oikawa's throat closes up. "I don't know?"

Iwaizumi scoots closer until their shoulders and knees are bumping together, and slides an arm behind his back. It's comforting, to know Iwaizumi is there – that he's _always_ here, no matter what.

"I shouldn't care, right? But I do," Oikawa admits bitterly. "I think- seeing him reminded me of... Of everything."

"Nobody expects you to just forget it, Tooru," Iwaizumi says softly.

"Good," Oikawa replies with a self-deprecating, cutting laugh. "I'd hate to disappoint _again_."

Iwaizumi's eye twitches, but he's nice enough not to say anything. Oikawa still feels guilt rising in his chest.

"Sorry," he mumbles, looking away. "You're the last person I should say that to."

"It's okay," Iwaizumi shrugs. "I'm used to your terrible personality."

"Well, you're still friends with me," Oikawa points out. "I must have some redeeming qualities."

"You're not bad to look at, I guess," Iwaizumi replies, faking a pensive expression. "And now that you're a better adult, I guess I can always call you if I need something – wait, no, I have Daichi. I don't know why I keep you around."

"Same here," Oikawa nods thoughtfully. "When was the last time you were actually useful? I have no idea."

Iwaizumi sighs. "Guess we must like each other, then."

"Tragic."

"And if I tell you you can choose a movie to make me watch?"

Oikawa takes Iwaizumi's free hand in his and adopts the most solemn voice he can. "You are my best and only friend, and you just signed up for a Harry Potter marathon."

"We can watch _two_ movies," Iwaizumi counters. "After that, I need to go to bed. And you've got work too, in case you forgot."

Oikawa wrinkles his nose. "Yeah, and I have to see Ushijima again. Don't remind me."

Iwaizumi nod, then gets up to look for his laptop. Oikawa goes to grab a blanket for both of them, then makes himself comfortable on the couch, lifting a corner of the blue fleece up for Iwaizumi when he comes back.

"Your ass takes up the whole couch," Iwaizumi grumbles.

Oikawa refuses to move, and they battle for couch territory until Iwaizumi ends up throwing his legs over Oikawa’s, and then they start the movies.

* * *

_six months ago_

"You're leaving," Oikawa repeats.

Ushijima nods silently.

"And you're breaking up with me. You're leaving and breaking up with me," Oikawa says again.

He's not sure he understands the words. Surely this is a hallucination. He's having a bad dream, and when he'll wake up, Ushijima will be there, next to him, and Oikawa will kiss him good morning.

_When’s the last time I actually took the time to do that?_

"Yes," Ushijima replies, steady.

"Why?"

Oikawa knows as soon as the word is out of his mouth that it was the wrong thing to say. Ushijima's face hardens, and he looks more tired, suddenly.

"I understand that you do not want to come out at work,” he declares, “but you won’t look me in the eye, you barely talk to me. And what little time we get together out of work, we fight. I don’t remember the last time we enjoyed being together.” His words are monotonous, like he’s reciting the list of groceries he has to buy, and not the reasons he’s _breaking up_. “I do not understand you, and you do not try to understand me. There is no benefit for either of us from staying together.”

Oikawa is too stunned to talk. He wants to yell, to say it's not true, to beg Ushijima to stay, but he just _can't_.

"You've been thinking about it," he points out instead. "You can't have just been offered that new position, if you're leaving so soon."

"I have," Ushijima confirms.

Oikawa swallows the bile he feels rising up in his throat. "You never said anything."

Ushijima looks pained. "It would only have led to more fighting."

Oikawa grits his teeth. "So that's it? It's not working like you want anymore, so you walk away?"

Ushijima lets out a shuddering sigh and braces himself. "Yes."

There are so many words Oikawa wants to throw at him. He wants to hurt Ushijima, to make him feel like _he's_ feeling. He wants to insult him, to tell him he's a coward for running away, to ask Ushijima not to abandon him, to tell him _I love you_.

But the fight is sucked out of him before he's even opened his mouth. The problem is that Ushijima isn't _wrong_. This, what they have – it's not getting better. Maybe it's Oikawa's fault, for hiding the truth from himself – maybe he should have seen it coming. Maybe he should have paid more attention; maybe he should have noticed he was hurting Ushijima.

 _I love you_. How does the sentence go? If you love him, let him go?

Oikawa licks his lips. "Fine." Ushijima looks surprised, almost apprehensive. "Fine, have it your way. It's not like I can change your mind now. Get your stuff," Oikawa says.

He turns his back to Ushijima and goes to sit on the couch. He grabs one of the books piled on the coffee table and opens it. He can't focus on the words or the lines, can't read even a single sentence, but he can see, from the corner of his eye, Ushijima collecting most of what belongs to him.

It's strange. Oikawa hadn't noticed there was so much of it in his apartment. Still, it fits in the bag Ushijima brought, and he's done quickly, as efficient as ever. Oikawa only stands up again when Ushijima has put on his shoes, and walks toward him.

"Give me back my key," Oikawa demands, opening his hand.

Ushijima's features are drawn, when he looks at Oikawa's outstretched hand, and then looks up at him. For a second, one single, blessed second, Oikawa thinks he's going to say something, to take it back – but Ushijima simply puts the key in his palm, almost delicately.

"Goodbye," Ushijima murmurs, before turning away.

When the door shuts, Oikawa's fingers are clasped around the key, and he hasn't found his voice. He takes a few wobbling steps back, gets a look at his apartment and his room. Nothing is unmade – Ushijima pushed back the drawers perfectly. Probably even arranged the clothes in it, too. The jacket he kept leaving, always hanging on the back of the couch, is gone. His mug is still here, but it's because it belonged to Oikawa to begin with – it just became Ushijima's designated mug, at some point.

Oikawa throws the key on the coffee table and goes to grab the mug. It's simple, just a black, polished cup. It seemed to suit Ushijima's personality.

Oikawa wants to break it, or throw it in the trash. Instead, he puts it back, and pushes it far away, behind all the other plates and bowls, until he can't see it anymore. Then he closes the cupboard and takes a look around.

It's like Ushijima was never here. Like he'll never be here again.

Oikawa has to catch himself on the kitchen counter.

Ushijima has left. Ushijima has broken up with him and _left_.

He stumbles toward the couch and practically falls on it.

Ushijima has left. Ushijima has decided to go live in a town ten hours away by train, and to leave him behind.

How has he managed to fuck up so _monumentally?_

* * *

The next few days pass in a blur for Ushijima. He remembers having drinks with his friends, but the rest of the evening is absent from his memory. Tendou most likely made him do shots with him again, he guesses, and Reon confirms it. He was happy to see them, though, and they seemed glad in return. Ushijima knew he missed them, but hadn't truly realized how much.

Unfortunately, the same cannot be said for Oikawa. Ushijima is all too aware of how much he's missed him.

Oikawa treats him like a colleague. The interview was short, all questions impersonal, only related to work. Ushijima knows how Oikawa likes to conduct his interviews – he knows the three others most likely received a warmer treatment. But – it’s fine. It works.

Oikawa has him establishing the layout for each reception. He puts two of the others on catering, and the last one on finding lodgings. He goes from one person of the team from another, probably covering more miles than he does on his daily runs.

Ushijima spends more time than he really wants to admit looking at Oikawa while he works. His own work doesn't really allow for slacking off, but he can't help but be drawn to the composed authority coming from Oikawa. He looks sure of himself, of the advice he gives. Ushijima knows it's because he's worked all of these jobs at least once before, and done extensive research on those he was least familiar with. Oikawa doesn't believe much in trusting people to know what's best, unless he can judge by himself.

He turns his head quickly when it's his turn to be visited, typing away at his list. He has pictures and layouts printed and scattered on his desk, comparing and examining them, then listing off the good and bad points of each. Oikawa glances at them – they both know he won't find any error or forgotten detail.

"Good," Oikawa announces in his work voice. "Keep it up. I'm going to need the Sendai plans this evening, so if you could finish those by then, I would appreciate it."

Ushijima makes a mental note. "I will."

Oikawa smiles briefly at him before hurrying toward someone else. "Thank you."

Ushijima keeps his eyes fixed on Oikawa’s back for a few seconds, then shakes himself out of it and goes back to work.

He's one of the last to leave. He finished the Sendai plans in the middle of the afternoon, but he's deep into working out the new air conditioning system in the building they'll use in Nagoya. It almost startles him when Oikawa clears his throat, standing behind him.

"You should go home."

"I'll finish this," Ushijima says, pointing at his screen.

He's turning back to his desk when Oikawa sighs exasperatedly. There's nobody else left with them now, Ushijima notices. Oikawa is dropping the mask. Or parts of it.

"Listen, I know you like to live at work, but you should go... home."

He freezes when he reaches the end of his sentence, and Ushijima is paralyzed. It's something Oikawa has said to him many times – it's been the source of many of their arguments, as well. It's been a long time since anybody has said anything like that to him.

Six months.

Ushijima swallows. "Thank you for your concern. I will go, then."

Oikawa nods awkwardly and steps back. He concerns himself with papers on someone else's desk as Ushijima tidies his own, then gathers his jacket and briefcase. He looks over his work station once, and deems it acceptable.

"Ushijima," Oikawa calls.

Ushijima feels like his voice is pulling him in. He moves, and Oikawa is standing there, looking at him in a way he can't quite identify. Ushijima waits – he doesn't hope.

"Good work today," Oikawa ends up saying, after a long moment of hesitation.

No hope. Only a co-working relationship.

"Thank you," Ushijima repeats.

He bows, shallowly, then steps out of the room and leaves Oikawa behind. He has to make a conscious effort to stay collected as he walks out out of the building, has to resist as his body feels like it’s trying to tear itself apart, right up until he's alone, in the privacy of his room.

There isn't a single one of his thoughts that isn't about Oikawa right now. His grip goes slack, and his briefcase falls on the ground. He buries his face in his hands and closes his eyes, but it only means that he can see Oikawa's face even more clearly, burned on his eyelids. Oikawa's _smile_. He can almost hear Oikawa's voice, too, that easy teasing lilt he hasn’t used on Ushijima yet.

Ushijima usually doesn't describe himself as a mess. He likes to think he's a measured person, who acts rationally, and reasons with facts rather than emotions.

Oikawa upsets the natural order of things, the natural order of _him_. He can't think straight; his thoughts are usually a line, but there's Oikawa in the middle of the way, every way, every line, every thought, and Ushijima can't push him out. It's _overwhelming_ , so much that he has to sit down.

He'd known it would be complicated, but nothing could have prepared him for it to be this _hard_ , to be so close to Oikawa again, while knowing _he_ was the one who had ended things. He can't have him again – he doesn't have the right to ask for it. He shouldn't anyway. There was a reason he had preferred to break up, after all – several, in fact.

But he has always had trouble remembering what he should and shouldn't do when Oikawa comes into the picture.

Ushijima stands up and changes in his running clothes. He needs to move, to clear his head. If he can.

He refuses to get involved in this again. It hurt enough the first time.

* * *

_six months ago_

Ushijima doesn't go far after he leaves Oikawa's apartment. He stumbles in the elevator, and presses the right button with fingers shaking so much that it takes four tries. Then the elevator door closes, and he sags against the wall behind him.

He's clutching his bag, heavy with the things he's taken back, and his heart is pounding, and – he knows what he said, knows what Oikawa said. But this doesn't feel real. He knows it happened, knows it _is_ happening, but there's a part of his brain that refuses to acknowledge it yet.

The elevator door opens. Tendou and Semi are there, waiting for him. There is no trace of Tendou's usual smirk on his face; they both look concerned. Ushijima almost regrets asking them to come with him. This shouldn't hurt anymore people. It was hard enough to watch Oikawa when he told him.

"You okay?" Semi asks, gently.

Ushijima shrugs, and starts walking. Semi and Tendou follow him without a word, but he can feel their eyes on him. They start whispering furiously back and forth, but he tunes them out. He can't make out what they're saying anyway.

Semi's car is parked just two streets away.

"I'm in front!" Tendou yells before any of them can say anything.

Semi gives a long-suffering sigh. "Don't put your feet up."

"Aw, Semi-Semi, you know I won't," Tendou smiles. "I'm always on my best behavior for you."

Semi looks thoroughly unconvinced. He opens the trunk and Ushijima puts down his bag, then they get into the car. Ushijima has the back for himself, while Tendou and Semi start bickering – mostly because, of course, the first thing Tendou has done is put his feet up, his toes almost touching the windshield.

"Can't you sit like a normal human being?" Semi hisses, jabbing his keys into Tendou's thigh before starting the car.

"You wouldn't love me if I was like everyone else," Tendou replies.

"I don't love you anyway."

"Oh, no, Semi!" Tendou gasps. "What a terrible thing to say to me!"

"I should have an accident just so you break your legs," Semi deadpans as he maneuvers the car on the road.

"Hey, Wakato-" Tendou starts, turning to Ushijima.

He stops in the middle of his sentence with a quiet 'shit'. That's when Ushijima notices his vision has gone blurry. He lifts a hand up to his face, and finds his skin wet. Tendou unfastens his seatbelt and slides between the two front seats to come sit next to Ushijima. Semi must have felt the sudden seriousness that has fallen in the car, because he doesn't protest when Tendou almost knees him in the head.

"Sorry," Ushijima says.

He tries to wipe the tears away, but Tendou catches his hand and pulls him into a hug. He doesn't say anything, just holds him, and lets Ushijima cry quietly into Tendou's shoulder for most of the ride, until his eyes burn less and he feels too exhausted to do more than let his head rest against Tendou's chest, while Tendou rubs his back.

Eventually, Semi stops the car. He doesn't say a word, just goes around and picks up Ushijima's bag while Tendou hauls Ushijima outside.

They're not at his apartment, but in front of the little house Yamagata rents with his older siblings. Maybe it's a good idea. Ushijima can't imagine he would have had anything but a miserable evening if he'd gone home alone.

It's Yamagata who opens the door. He doesn't seem very surprised to see them, but he looks mildly alarmed when he sees Ushijima.

"Come in," Yamagata urges them. "I'll go make – coffee, or something."

"Are your brother and sister here?" Semi asks as they all trickle in.

"They're out with their girlfriends," Yamagata shrugs. "You guys can crash here if you want, I don't think they're coming back tonight."

Ushijima is guided by Tendou until they reach a chair, then Tendou pushes him lightly to make him sit. He lets himself be moved around; he's aware of everything going on around him – Yamagata making tea and coffee and exchanging whispers with Semi, Tendou opening the fridge, the sound of the TV in the background – but he doesn't want to participate. It’s easier to simply let everything wash over him. When Yamagata puts a mug of tea down in front of him, even lifting it to his mouth seems like too much effort.

They don't force him to talk. Yamagata and Tendou sit on each side of him, too close for it to be normal, but he appreciates it. Semi is across him, and they talk around him, about things Ushijima doesn't quite catch. Reon comes in later, gives him a half hug that Ushijima doesn't return, and pulls the chair next to Semi. Ushijima's tea is cold, by then, and he still can't focus on the conversation.

But he can't quite focus on Oikawa, either. Before it gets too much, before he remembers again how defeated Oikawa sounded – there is Tendou's cackling, or Reon drops his spoon, and he's brought back. Yamagata is leaning against him, and Semi keeps glancing at him, like he's ready to come catch him if he collapses.

For the first time that evening, Ushijima feels like he’s on solid ground again.

* * *

Oikawa drowns himself in work. He knows Yahaba tries to take on some of the things he needs to do, but there's still so much to attend to that Oikawa is able to focus on that, and not on anything else. He guesses it's hypocritical of him, maybe, after telling Ushijima not to live at work, but it's _different_. He's got more responsibilities, phone calls possible to make only after everyone has finished their work. He doesn't leave _that_ late anyway – he's only gone home after nine _once_ during this mission, and he's been careful since.

Part of him is honest enough to admit it's not really that he takes care of himself, and more that he doesn't want his friends to worry. Iwaizumi and Hanamaki would end up dragging him home by force, probably, like they had a few months ago. He doesn't particularly want to live through that again.

But he doesn't spend that much time home, anyway. He goes to a gym in the opposite direction after he leaves work, and stays there until he can barely move anymore. It's nice – quieter, in the evenings, even though the Tokyo crowd doesn't really respect normal business hours. And working out is healthier than drinking himself into oblivion. Then he eats out, sometimes. Or meets with his friends. And if he really has to go home, he has a vast collection of movies and dramas to distract himself.

So, if you asked him - no, he hasn’t thought about Ushijima Wakatoshi much, in the last few weeks.

Except for those moments at work, where he takes a minute just to watch him. It's unprofessional, and more than a little creepy, but he can't help it. Seeing him like this again, like they're strangers, reminds him of when they actually were – all the little things that used to make him tick, and want to get under Ushijima’s skin.

He's not sure how he feels about said little things now. They're not driving him mad like they used to, but he can't feel fondness about them, either.

He's pulled away from his thoughts when Suga slaps down a thick pile of detailed transport arrangements on his desk, and he sighs.

"Do we really need that many alternative plans?" he whines, flipping through the pile.

"Unless you want to leave some people stranded on the side of the road. Which I wouldn't personally be against," Suga shrugs. "Half of the invites are for rich stuck-up assholes."

"You did research on them?" Oikawa notes with a smirk.

Suga grimaces. "The better you know the client, the better you can serve them. We're going to have to rent _limousines_."

He says it with disgust, like the word is going to make his tongue fall out, and Oikawa has to stifle his laugh. He was there for Suga's _problem_ with a limousine company during the first months of his job here. There were many phone calls followed by enraged screaming – thankfully, Suga had the decency to close his door when it reached that point.

"I'm sure you'll do your best," Oikawa says, biting his lip to keep his smile from spreading too wide.

Suga narrows his eyes at him. "Asshole."

"No favoritism, you know that."

"If they're insufferable, I'm making you call them," Suga threatens.

He's already opened the door to walk out when he seems to remember something.

"Oh, right. I have a friend trying to set up a friend on a blind date," Suga says. "Would you be interested?"

"What kind of person is he?"

"No idea," Suga shrugs. "Kuroo said he can be an asshole sometimes, so I thought about you."

Oikawa snorts. "Takes one to know one. Get out before I demote you."

"I'm too valuable for that," Suga reminds him, and finally gets out.

Oikawa prepares himself to look at the itineraries Suga has planned, but someone blocks the door before it closes. When Oikawa looks up, Ushijima is standing in his office, and the door is shut.

"Yes?" he asks, careful to erase any wariness from his tone.

Ushijima gives him an indecipherable look, but he doesn't get any closer.

"Do you need something?" Oikawa presses.

"You came out."

It's a statement, in Ushijima's matter of fact voice, but Oikawa thinks he catches a glimpse of surprise in his eyes. Oikawa has half a mind to lecture him about eavesdropping, but it's not really the moment for it. Plus, he knows Ushijima doesn't _eavesdrop_ ; he simply doesn't know when he should stop listening to conversations.

"Yeah. A couple months ago, actually," he confirms.

He has to make a conscious effort not to be defensive about it, but if anybody has a right to ask, and to hear the truth, it's Ushijima.

"I thought you didn't want to," Ushijima observes.

He's tense, Oikawa notes. It's obvious in the line of his jaw, the stiffness of his shoulders, the way he's standing. He feels it himself, like his body is preparing its fight-or-flight response. He gets up and tries to shake it off, fiddles with the piles of reports on his desk for a few seconds, but he gives up on the pretense of activity quickly and looks up at Ushijima.

"I didn't, back then," he admits. "But when you left – I had to reconsider a lot of things."

He doesn't mention the wreck he was, the way he missed Ushijima so much he could barely eat, or the long, long sleepless nights. He'd had a lot of time to _reconsider things_ , during those.

He can't bring himself to tell Ushijima he was right about this. He can't tell him how it had been almost easy to come out, after, because he didn't really have anything to lose at that point. Or how long it had taken for him to stop wondering if it would have saved their relationship, if he'd done it sooner.

How much he'd wanted to call Ushijima and ask if he was _proud_.

"I'm glad," Ushijima says, softly, breaking the silence between them. "I hope you're happier like this."

Oikawa hates that he knows Ushijima is sincere. He hates what it makes him _feel_.

"I am," he offers.

Ushijima nods, once, then walks to the desk and drops his own report on the pile Oikawa was tampering with. Their eyes cross when Ushijima looks up, for a second, and all coherent thoughts desert Oikawa's mind in an instant. Ushijima’s eyes are a deep brown, warm and open, despite his almost too severe expression. They’ve always been one of the things Oikawa liked most about Ushijima.

Then Ushijima takes a step back, and the spell is broken.

"Thank you," Oikawa forces himself to say. "For the – report.”

Ushijima blinks, then nods again, and leaves. Oikawa isn't sure if he's walking faster than usual, or if it's just that his own body's perceptions are completely jumbled. He slumps on his chair when he's alone, and buries his head in his hands.

This isn’t going to work.

 


End file.
